Fighting Fist, And Heal
by Chicken Scratchings
Summary: Booth angst. Bones is killed on the job and this is what happens to Booth after. Rubbish summary, but hopefully that won't put you off.
1. Chapter 1

_It's me again. With a bit more Booth angst. Sorry, I think I'm like writing it too much. Ah well, it may be slightly depressing but maybe there will be a good ending… who knows?_

_I am starting college tomorrow (here in the UK that's different to America, I'm only 16) but that means I will probably have a bit less time to write than I would like. So updates will probably be only twice a week, sorry. I'll try to update whenever I can._

_Okay, I'll stop rambling. I really hope you like it. Drop me a review if you do, and if you didn't let me know what you didn't like about it. But, you know, nicely. Self-confidence is a commodity at my age =D_

_Enjoy. Thanks for reading. _

Chapter One

"Here's your suit. I got it dry-cleaned for you."

Booth, sitting motionless on his couch, didn't move. Or speak. Or even look at Cam. He had barely spoken a word to anyone since that day at the hospital. He lived like his soul had been removed; he didn't shave, didn't sleep, didn't shower, didn't speak. He'd only eaten when someone had forcibly put food in front of him, and even then he'd only picked at two or three forkfuls before walking away. He'd managed to throw up three times, despite his lack of food.

He hadn't smiled since she'd gotten shot. At this point, Cam doubted that he ever would.

"The funeral's at 3 o'clock." She said gently.

Still, he made no move.

"You are going, aren't you?"

"She didn't believe in funerals."

His voice was like him; empty. There was no more spark, nothing alive about his voice. It was so desolate that it should have echoed.

Cam felt like crying. She had already spent four days in tears, trying to deal with the loss. She and Brennan had had a shaky start but they'd eventually managed to reach a point where they could be called friends. All of them existed as a family, and Brennan had let her come into that family, despite her original misgivings. Her chest strained at the thought that she wasn't going to be around anymore.

If it caused her pain to lose Brennan, she couldn't imagine what it was doing to Seely. She could look at him, and guess, but she knew that she couldn't comprehend what he was going through. He had survived so much, but this time he'd been pushed too far. She had never seen him like this before. It was as if he was so desperate for the pain to stop that he'd shut himself down. He's stopped himself from feeling anything.

She and Jared had taken it in turns to watch over him. Hodgins had come round, but he was too distraught himself, and he was trying so hard to console Angela that he'd only been once.

They were all going to the funeral today. She had to make sure that Booth was there. He'd regret it for the rest of his life if he wasn't.

"She didn't believe in funerals." Cam repeated. She spoke slowly and carefully to him, like she had for the past few days. "But she went to yours."

A flicker of emotion passed through his face at that. It was… pain, shame? It was gone too quickly for her to be sure.

"You need to change. We have to leave in 10 minutes."

Again he said nothing, but he drank from the glass of water she'd put in front of him, long and deep, as though he was trying to inhale it, absorb its innate blandness. When he finished he slowly leaned forwards and sat the glass on the coffee table in front of him.

"She went to mine." He repeated.

He got up without looking at Cam and picked up the clothes she'd laid over the arm of the couch. Silently he walked into his bedroom and shut the door behind him.

Still in the living room, Cam breathed out a sigh of relief and rested back against the wall. She closed her eyes and tried not to cry.

A few minutes later, Booth emerged, dressed in a plain black suit. He wore a plain black tie and a simple, metal belt buckle. Cam watched as he put on his shoes, and saw that his socks were standard black. He still hadn't shaved, but she didn't want to push him. The stubble wasn't too thick yet anyway.

When he straightened up from putting on his shoes, Cam said, "Okay. Let's go."

*

_Right so… thoughts? I know it's short, but the next one will be longer, promise. Cheers for reading. _


	2. Chapter 2

_Thanks so much for the positive response! Seriously, after a fairly awful start to college, to come back to that was really nice, so cheers._

_Like I said though, a bad day made me angsty so I popped this out. I really hope you like it and I don't disappoint you after you gave me such kind reviews. _

_Just a reminder, updates probably won't be this frequent usually, but I was in a bad mood and needed to write. _

_Enjoy!_

Chapter Two

The rain was incessant. It beat down like bullets the size of a needle, each one shooting into his skin like a lethal injection.

How fitting.

Everyone was there. The cemetery was filled with a sea of black-clad mourners. An ocean of despair that seemed to flow from the centre. Angela, Zach, Hodgins, Cam, Max, Russ, Amy, Sweets, Caroline; the sea swelled further. Countless faces stared across the cemetery. Some he didn't know, but many he did. He recognized so many of them, people whose lives she had changed, saved, left an impact on. The adoptive parents of baby Andy. Cleo Eller's parents. Kelly Morris. Ambassador Olivos. Margaret Sanders. Ivy Gillespie. Jose Vargas and his wife. The list seemed endless. If it were still beating properly, his heart would've sung.

They were gathered around the grave where her coffin lay, the mud pooling around the shiny polished wood, already tarnishing it as if nature couldn't wait to claim it back. Looking down on it, Booth had the sudden urge to leap down that short, six foot fall and wipe away the dirt. Throw off the mud, drain away the water that wouldn't stop trickling down the side of the coffin, do anything, anything, to keep it pure, keep it whole. He could use this worthless black suit jacket to smear away the soil that had turned black in the rain. Stop it from consuming her coffin. Clean away the bad. Make it shine again.

But he didn't. Instead he stood stoic and unmoving, his head bent against the rain, hands in his pockets, shoulders hunched. Brain dead.

The mourners started to slowly, gradually, move away as the service finished. He remained motionless.

"Hard to believe she's gone."

Booth tensed. He hadn't noticed his brother standing next to him. He hadn't really noticed anything except her. He didn't respond to Jared's meaningless words, keeping his gaze fixed on the hole where his heart lay.

"She really was something special, you know." He carried on regardless.

"Someone." Booth all but growled. "Some_one _special."

"Yeah." His voice was dismissive, "She was. Look at all these people. I didn't expect to see this many people here." Out of the corner of his eye, Booth saw his brother shrug. "Lot of book fans, I guess."

A shiver of something sinister crawled down Booths spine at his words. His jaw tightened and his eyes narrowed to slits against the onslaught of rain.

"I always meant to ask her if she based that book guy on you, you know. Guess I won't have the chance now." A stray thought struck him and he turned his head to Booth. "Hey, did you ever ask her? Is that Andy guy meant to be you?"

Booth stared at the grave in silence.

Jared blew out a cool, sighing whistle. "Nah. Probably not. Although, you'll never know now. You should have asked her. Missed opportunities and all that." He paused, reflecting on it. Then he said absently, "Too bad she's dead."

Booth's fist came out of nowhere. The first punch shot into Jared's ribs and he buckled over in shock and pain. Barely a second later Booth's left fist collided with his brother's jaw with an audible crunch, and Jared went spinning to the ground like he'd been shot out of a cannon.

Everything happened in the space of a few adrenaline rushed seconds.

There was a shout behind him and suddenly someone grabbed Booth from behind, pulling on his upper arms in an effort to drag him away from the bloodied man sprawled on the floor. In a reaction born from years surviving a drunken father and honed to deadly perfection in the Rangers, Booth shot his elbow into the ribs of the person behind him, then grabbed his wrist and spun it over his head in a swift, vicious dance step, the only music the fierce snapping of Hodgins arm.

Hodgins screamed and staggered backwards.

There were more shouts coming from the gathering behind him, and in the corner of his eye, near the funeral door, Booth could see Max making a b-line for him from across the other side of the cemetery. All he could hear though, was the sound of Jared, rolling onto his back and propping up on his elbows, laughing bitterly in pain. That was all it took for Booth to lose it altogether.

In the split second it took for Booth to turn his head to look at him, he reached into his jacket and pulled out his gun, and aimed it directly at Jared's head.

Everyone froze. The people running over stopped in their tracks, and he heard Angela gasp through tears.

Booth stood side on, about two meters from Jared, his right arm raised, his finger on the trigger. The rain had plastered his hair to his head and his suit was dripping wet. He must have been freezing cold, but he didn't shake. His hand and his stance was rock steady, and didn't even move when the wind whipped his black tie around his neck like a noose. He could have been a statue.

At least then, his eyes might've been more alive.

Jared stared up at him. The wet mud was soaking into his back and legs, and his jaw throbbed so badly his eyes watered.

The silence stretched.

After a moment, Jared found his voice somewhere amongst the blood he could taste on his tongue. He spotted Booths teeth-shredded knuckles and realised it must be his. "You- you brought a gun to the funeral." He managed to stammer.

Almost a full minute passed before Booth answered, his voice barely audible above the quiet pummeling of the rain. It was entirely without emotion, only his rigid stance giving any indication of the pain he was suffering.

"I didn't bring it for you."

Jared's eyes widened at the clear meaning behind his statement.

If Bones was here, it would only have taken a gentle hand touching his arm, or a few spoken words and he would have relaxed, his body and soul falling to her like her touch was morphine.

All he felt was the rain. And so his grip tightened on the gun, even if he had no intention of shooting the person it was currently aimed at.

Slowly, his wrist began to turn upwards.

"Booth!" hollered a voice, saturated in pain, but still strong enough to be fierce.

Booth didn't turn to look at the voice, or make any indication that he'd heard it, but his wrist stopped moving.

"Don't do this to my daughter."

The cemetery was silent.

Silently, a tear escaped from the mask and slid down his cheek, burning its way through the rain on his face.

So quiet it was barely audible, Booth whispered, "She did it to me."

Without another word, he lowered his arm and let the gun slip out of his fingers.

Leaving his brother on the ground, he turned his back on the horrified expressions of the funeral gathering and walked to the edge of the cemetery, to the road where his SUV was parked. He yanked open the door, climbed in, and drove away.

*

Um, so… was that okay? I was kind of worried about writing Booth in this scene because the emotion was so deep and pretty ineffable. Oh and I hope Booths last remark didn't make you think Brennan committed suicide, cause she didn't; but she did leave him when she got shot. Just to clarify if there's any confusion. Thanks for reading though. :)


	3. Chapter 3

_Next one's up. There's not a lot of Booth in this but I think the other's reaction and friendship is important too. Thanks for the really positive reviews! Made my day so much better after a bad start to college. Things are going a bit better now :) which is probably why this is harder to write; angst seems more suited to bad moods. _

_Thanks for reading. I hope you enjoy it. _

Chapter Three

"Someone should go after him." Cam muttered.

"No way," Hodgins replied. "What that man needs right now is to be alone."

Max grimaced "I think that's the problem."

Hodgins winced. They had all reconvened back in the funeral home, so Jared could get cleaned up. Angela hadn't stopped crying, so Hodgins had refused to go to the hospital until she was no longer in hysterics. Cam had checked that the break wasn't too severe, and given him some painkillers and a temporary sling. Jared's jaw had already swollen and turned purple, but at least he hadn't lost his front teeth. Two ribs were broken though. A testament to Booths right hook. As soon as Cam had declared that his jaw wasn't physically broken, Jared had taken off, much to everyone's approval.

"No, Dr Saroyan is right." Sweets murmured. "Agent Booth is in an extremely bad place right now. As much as he needs to deal with these issues without interference, he needs to be kept alive too." The others exchanged worried glances before Sweets continued, his voice grieved. "I don't know what he's going to do."

Angela managed to speak between each ragged breath, and said, "But, he left his gun right?"

Hodgins quietly replied. "He doesn't need a gun to do it."

"Oh God." Angela sobbed into Hodgins shoulder and he rubbed her back with his good arm.

"Booth is a strong person, he's been through more than most people can imagine. You don't seriously think he would…" Cam trailed off.

Sweets winced. "I… don't know. And that, more than anything is what worries me. Dr Brennans sudden death hit him harder than I think even any of us could have ever imagined. His behavior recently has been so…" Sweets was lost for words, and on the verge of tears. "He's not the same person we know right now." He finished feebly.

"Do any of you know where he might have gone?" Max asked gently.

They all shook their head. "There's a few places he might go, but I don't think he's in a rational state of mind at the moment. He could be anywhere."

Max frowned. "Well, let's start with these places and narrow it down from there. Any suggestions?"

They all thought about it for a moment.

"The Diner?"

"Sids?"

"His apartment?"

"Her apartment?"

"The Lab?"

"Founding Fathers?"

"Church?"

"Whoa!" Max interrupted. "I think that's enough for a good starting place. Hodgins, you get to the hospital. We'll split the list and see if we can't find the poor man."

They all nodded their approval and wiped away their tears.

They had a friend to save.

*

Booth parked the car and got out. The rain had not stopped and had managed to drive away any potential visitors. The steps were deserted.

Slamming the car door with vicious force, Booth slowly began to ascend the steps that looked out over the Washington Monument.

He'd come here because it was the only place that had been purely theirs. None of the squints had been here with them. He wasn't sure they had even known about it. Here, he could almost feel her. He stood in the middle of the steps and turned to face the monument. The rain beat down on him and he closed his eyes, spreading his palms outwards.

Like this, he could almost imagine that she was still there. She was stood next to him, on these steps. They'd been drinking together, laughing at a bad joke that she wouldn't understand. She'd stand close enough that he could smell her shampoo.

He let his fingers drift through the wind, and he could almost feel the touch of her skin along his fingertips. Behind closed eyes, a flash of azure blue set him alight.

The rain fell past his ears and whispered a quiet laugh to him, her laugh. It filled his ears, his head, his throat, until he was drowning in her.

Every sense of her cascaded though him; she dominated his every thought and feeling and she overflowed from his soul until she surrounded him, encircling him in a world where she was not only alive, but what kept him living.

He breathed deeply and for one brief, perfect moment, he forgot that she was dead.

*

_Sorry it's so short. Hope you liked it anyway. Cheers for reading._


	4. Chapter 4

_Hey, so sorry about the update delay; I could cite a lot of things as the cause, but mostly it's down to all the work college is setting me. So, sorry about that._

_Thank you again for reviewing! And I though I'd give a special thanks to __**daisy07 **__who seems to have reviewed pretty much all of my stories – so thank you! Everyone who reviews makes me happier than a Bones addict who's just got a free boxset of Season Five DVD's. :) _

_I wrote a plan for this story today. First time I've ever done that. Normally I just write and it goes wherever, but I think the resolution to this story is important so I've mapped it all out and know exactly how I want it to end :) but if you want to see something in this story that isn't plot crucial then I'll try my best to fit it in. _

_Anyway, enough rambling. I hope you like it. _

Chapter 4

It had been almost eight hours since he'd left the cemetery after giving out orders to the others, and Max was way past being worried and entering the realm of serious, silent-but-deadly dread. Any idea they came up with had turned up drier than desert sand. Cam had wanted to call Booth in as missing to the police, but received only the despairingly infuriating message 'Please call back when the person you believe to be missing has not been heard from for over 24 hours. Thank you, and have a nice day.'

Max gripped the steering wheel tighter. His jaw clenched and the scowl he shot towards to the continuing onslaught of rain was weakened by an undercurrent of pain. Max had abandoned his daughter; he had been unable to properly protect her from his own bad mistakes and had wound up hurting her more than he could ever comprehend. The pain and betrayal she had felt ran deeper than words and whenever he thought about her agony he felt like his chest had been hollowed out, ripped apart by each individual rib.

But she had forgiven him. She had let him back into her world and he felt like he had cheated God. Nothing any God could give him would be better than her acceptance of him; something he knew he wasn't deserving of but which she had bestowed upon him anyway.

He loved her. And despite everything, it seemed she loved him too. He would find the man she loved, even if she'd never admitted it, and he would bring Booth back. He would save the man who had loved her and whom she had loved back. Max could never repay her for the love he didn't deserve, but he was damned well going to make sure that what she had loved would survive her death. That Booth would live, even if she no longer did.

So Max ignored the constricting pain in his chest and the stinging sensation in his eyes and focused on finding Booth. He fought his grief as he drove through the darkening streets, searching for love of his daughter, and for the man whose grief was as all-consuming as his own.

*

He spotted the SUV first. Its wheels titled sideways as it parked roughly half way up the sidewalk, on the street next to the Washington Monument. He called the others and let them know. Multiple sounds of relief and anguish sounded along the crackling phone line which was being torn up in the stormy weather.

He parked as close as possible to the SUV and got out. He couldn't see Booth nearby or sitting in the car but he decided to check anyway. Max wiped away the rain and pressed his forehead to the glass. Through the tinted window he spotted a slumped figure lying in the fetal position in the back seat, unmoving. With a growl of worry he jerked at the door handle, only to find it locked.

The ex-con snarled in anxious frustration, cursing the fool for locking the door when he could well be dying in there. Quickly glancing around the deserted street Max pulled out a thin, long wire, and with a swift flick of the wrist and a sharp jerk of the elbow the locking mechanism sprang open and he yanked open the door.

Booth was drenched. His clothes had been soaked by the rain and, off the horrifically strong stench of alcohol, Max presumed whiskey as well. He lay face down, head nearest the open door with his mouth half open, an expression of anguish etched into his features. His skin was a terrifyingly pale white that looked blue next to the damp collar of his shirt. He didn't move and it was impossible to see if he was breathing; his chest lay still and he stayed silent.

Desperately Max rushed to his press two fingers against his neck, feeling for the vein.

……_..thudthud……………….thudthud………._

Max blew out a sigh of relief. He had a heartbeat; it was faint, but it was there.

His skin was ice cold though. Even directly under a major artery it sent goosebumps up Max's arm. He must be nearing hypothermia. Max swore again. If the drunken agent hadn't had the sense to get in the car out of the rain he would already be dead.

"Booth. Booth!" Max shook his shoulders and hoped he hadn't succumbed to the snaking death cold already. If he had, it would be too late to change anything, even if he had a pulse now, it wasn't going to last. Unless…

"…..Ugnh…"

The groan sounded pained and it was barely louder than a whisper. Over the thundering of the rain on the metal roof of the car it was all but lost, but it was there. He wasn't a lost cause just yet.

Something akin to hope flickered to life in the drowning dark heart of Max Keenan and he immediately flew into action.

Stepping into the confines of the SUV to try and keep the cool wind from causing Booth anymore problems, Max set about removing the soaking wet suit jacket from the corpselike man. He shivered involuntarily as the freezing water bit at the exposed skin on his hands. He also took off Booths soaked shoes and socks.

Hurriedly he removed his own jacket and laid it across the unconscious man, trying to cover him up as much as possible, preserving the heat energy.

He snapped a seatbelt shut over Booths waist. After a moment rooting around under the front seat Max found the keys and stuck them in the ignition. The car growled to life and he reached over and cranked up the air conditioning to bring some semblance of warmth to the damp, freezing interior of the SUV.

He checked the key ring and noted that it also held a key to his apartment. Max knew where it was of course; his daughter had spent as much time there as at her own apartment over the last few years. With the streets as deserted as they were that night it would only take twenty minutes to get there.

Max stepped on the gas and as the car lurched roughly off the sidewalk, he vowed to get there in ten.

*

.

_Thanks for reading. Please let me know what you thought about it. Cheers. _


	5. Chapter 5

_This chapter hurt to write, but not nearly as much as I know what I've got planned will hurt. Just thinking about makes me think, 'NO! Why are you going to do that!? It __**hurts**__!'Hmmm, we'll see. _

_Enjoy. Thanks for sticking with this story, it means a lot. _

Chapter Five

"Eurgh…" Booth groaned as the coffee burned his throat.

"Drink up, son. We need to counteract all that alcohol you've got racing through your bloodstream."

Now he was dry and warming up, Max had set about trying to sober Booth up, enough so that when he collapsed into sleep he could be sure that he wouldn't throw up in his own bed.

Booth couldn't care less. Which he told Max, who ignored him and set about pouring scorching hot, extra-strong coffee down his neck. Booth functioned mechanically and his eyes were unfocused as he stared at the crescent-shaped stain on the table. He didn't know why Max was helping him; if his emotions weren't so deadened by grief and whiskey, he would've been surprised that Max hadn't killed him already; the man who'd got his daughter killed.

He didn't question the ex-con's motives too much. Flickering thoughts of a slow, painful death at the hands of his dead partner's father flitted through his mind and he vaguely wondered whether Max was simply biding his time. Soon he would bring revenge for his daughter and when that time came, the knives would be out, the limits would be obsolete and the pain would be all that he could see.

He wasn't sure he'd even try to stop him.

Slowly he took another languid drink of what could only be described as liquid caffeine. His vision blurred fiercely for a moment and he gripped the mug tighter with both hands. His head sunk between his shoulders as he leaned both elbows on the kitchen table.

Max sat opposite him, watching his face and monitoring his drunken movements. Within twenty minutes the coffee was kicking in and he could slowly see Booth start to reawaken from his haze. His skin had returned to a more normal looking colour, though he still shivered occasionally. This was actually a good sign; his body was starting to try and heat itself back up. The cold wouldn't kill him.

They sat in silence for a long time. Neither looked at the other as they got lost in their own thoughts, escaping from the reality of sitting in a dark room with a constant reminder of what they'd lost.

Booth broke the silence first. He didn't stir his gaze from the mug he was gripping so tightly, holding it steady like it was a mast in a stormy sea. His voice came out grazed from the alcohol and somewhat constricted, barely above a whisper.

"Jared was right, wasn't he? She… she really was someone special."

Max didn't hesitate. "Yes. Yes she was."

Booth nodded absently as though hearing information he was already aware of. "I'd always known she was special, since the very first day we worked together. But it was more than just her being a genius, you know?"

It was asked like a question, uncertainty wavering through his words, but Max didn't interrupt. But he did move his gaze from the window to look at Booth as he spoke quietly to the wooden table.

"She was… brilliant. Beautiful. She loved those around her with such fierceness… it was like a job all by itself; love them, protect them. I've never met anyone so unwaveringly loyal. Some people thought she was cold, distant." Booth's voice took on a small note of incredulity at his own words. "But just looking at her, it was obvious to anyone how wrong they were. She cared about every victim, every skeleton, every Bronze Age warrior to ever be laid before her."

"My daughter's capacity to love was a constant source of amazement to me when she was a child." Max agreed quietly. His voice became tight and if he were capable it sounded like he would have whimpered, "I hate that I almost took that away from her when I left."

Booth's head rose sharply and he shot Max a look so hard it could've been welded in steel. "Bones was the most compassionate person on this planet. Not even you could ever change that. What you did to her nearly broke her, but she came back stronger and managed to keep a hold of her heart at the same time. It may have been buried deeper, but it was beating more fiercely and a million times more formidable. Don't tell yourself that you took away her love, because Max, you only made her more loving."

The tears were flowing freely over Max's leathered face. The older man had crumpled under the weight of his own pain but Booths words had rekindled a fire in him that shone through his eyes. His chest tightened with grief at the same time that some knot in his back loosened. He lowered his head, and clutched the edge of the table ferociously, trying to steady the onslaught of bone shattering sobs that shook him to the core.

Something in Booth broke then. He watched as the man who had murdered people without a damaged conscience, who had stood silently hard-faced at his own murder trial, who had fought his way back into the heart of his daughter, suddenly collapsed. The swathe of unrestrained grief that rolled off the crying man was like a physical blow. It winded Booth, left him unable to breathe. His breath came in short, stunted bursts and it took him a moment to realize that he was crying too.

His eyes stung viciously. The tears seared down his face like burning acid; alien and painful, raking scars into his cheeks that could never be removed. He didn't try to wipe them away, but allowed them to flow freely through his skin, reveling in the truth of what they meant, determined that she leave a mark on him for eternity, paying him back for losing her.

The two men wept, ignorant of each other and yet completely aware of the level of pain and grief in that room. The memories of her were so vivid, so fundamentally alive that it seemed impossible that they could ever escape the pain. Remembering her was a horrific torture with the knowledge that she was no longer there to remember the past with them. It scared them both.

But it was not nearly as terrifying as the alternative.

*

_Thanks for reading. Sorry again that it was so short, but it seemed like a good enough place to end that chapter. Please don't let it put you off reviewing. Thanks. _


End file.
